26. Virgilio
Chapter Twenty-Six
VIRGILIO
I t’s been three days since I last heard Zoe’s laughter.
I keep replaying it in my head, and if I could, I would impress it onto a vinyl and sit in my office all day listening to it with the darkness as my companion.
I have never felt as much charge of light as when her laughter broke through my blinds and exposed my drab soul to its intense light.
I swirl the whiskey glass in my hand, waiting impatiently for the evening to come, so we can get on to the first part of our deal.
The Met Gala is today, later this evening, and I have done the first fitting of one of the suits. I can’t choose a favorite or wear them all at once. So I told her to pick the one she thinks will complement her outfit.
She has outdone herself. Her dedication and commitment to her craft are commendable, and after the Met Gala, I should find a way to enforce rest on her. I’m sure her back and fingers hurt from working nonstop.
I sip from my whiskey, fantasizing about how she would look all dressed up. I missed the chance to see her in a prom dress. Then I missed another in Milan. I won’t trade this for anything in the world.
I swallow the burning liquid after twirling it in my mouth so it numbs the inside of my cheeks.
The estate is boiling with activity as everyone is trying to get to work to make tonight’s outing a success. Soon, she should be getting her hair and makeup done, and I will go to my bedroom to get dressed.
Everything seems to be in order.
Zoe and I have gotten our stories right in case the media sharks come at us with questions.
We have agreed to say that she went hiding because she was scared the men who killed her father would come after her. It’s a brilliant idea and I don’t see a downside to it. The men are either dead or will be bothered about her.
I won’t say nothing can go wrong but nothing must go wrong.
“Ettore?” Dante barks from outside my office door, and I grunt, not at all ready for his disturbance.
I haven’t seen him since I told him the truth. He made no contact, and I didn’t bother to reach out. It was for the best. He needed to come around on his own.
“Come in,” I say, going for a refill as the door cracks open, and he comes in.
“Even the devil gets tired of hell, Ettore,” he mumbles, and I see him moving toward the window in the darkness. My eyes are adjusted to the darkness so much that I can trace his movements.
“And what would you be doing in hell, brother?” I scoff at whatever he meant.
“I’m not done with my sentence,” he drags part of the curtains, and harsh sunlight beams into the space, dusting on the furniture and interior, “It is why he comes to play on Earth,” he stalks towards me. “You should let the light in sometimes.”
“Is that so?” I know he is talking about the sunlight or any other light in my space, but it sounds more like an innuendo for my dreary existence, and I take the punch.
He stops in front of my desk. “We need to talk.” His biting tone tells me he is bothered and maybe enraged at something.
“What is it, Cesare?” Today is a good day, and I don’t need any underworld business getting in the way.
He paces, hands fisted by his sides and his jaw razor sharp, “I know you asked me to let it go, but I couldn’t help myself from…”
“Tell me you didn’t do anything stupid,” I slam my hand on the desk.
“Depending on what would pass for stupid,” he clicks his tongue as if he couldn’t care less about my anger, “I’ve been doing some research on our father, Benedetto Messina. Since you wouldn't speak further about him, I took matters into my own hands.”
That. That is not so stupid, but it is stupid nonetheless.
I exhale heavily. “We've been over this, Cesare. Let the wounds heal.”
He shakes his head, “But that’s the problem, Ettore, they are not healing.”
“Our father's shadow has loomed over us for too long. It's time to let it go, don’t you think?” I was resolved to kill the man, but I have been thinking about it, and maybe just letting the psychopath be is best for everyone.
To take him out will require lots of blood to spill, and I have something to lose now. I have Zoe to lose now.
Cesare shakes his head. “You want closure by forgetting, but I need closure through revenge. I can't just move on knowing that Benedetto is out there, living his life while we suffer."
“But are we suffering?” I drop my whiskey glass, and he quickly reaches over for it, swallowing the contents.
“What’s your deal?” He snickers. I know whenever he is like this, it’s because his nightmares have gotten worse, and he is trying to stay away from his sleeping pills that never worked for him.
Still, I’m desperate for him to drop it and just listen to me. “Cesare, I have Zoe back in my life, and I can't risk losing her again.” I circle my desk to him, but he is already wagging his head, “We have a chance to live free from our past. Revenge won't bring us peace. It will only drag us back into the darkness.”
I saw the light three days ago, and I’m never letting that go. Never.
His eyes blaze with fury, “You might be able to forget, but I can't,” he sneers. “I need to make him pay for everything he's done. He's the reason we've lived in fear, the reason we had to hide our true identities.”
“And what do you think revenge will accomplish? Do you think killing him will erase the pain, the nightmares? It will only make you more like him,” I thunder, my voice bouncing out of me in rumbles.
“Don’t you fucking say that to me,” he lunges forward, and I lose my balance but quickly find my feet before falling over. “You don't fucking get it, do you? You're too wrapped up in your new life to see the truth. He needs to be fucking stopped,” he growls.
I’m simmering but trying as hard as I can to hold still, “I get it, Cesare. I understand more than you could ever fucking possibly think. But I also know that living for revenge will destroy you.” I know this because I have spent fucking years nursing it, and it got me thirsting for so much blood that I have lost myself completely.
I go to him, trying to still him with my hands on his shoulders, but he comes at me instead with a swinging punch. I slap my hand into it, catching it midair, but no less feeling the pinching impact of it in my palm. The force rocks the both of us.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” My grip tightens around his fist, but we are both grappling to see who gets to make the other back down. “Get your shit together,” I twist his hand, and he seethes. “Get. Your. Fucking. Shit. Together,” I force his hand down.
“Why do you care so much about this new life? Why is Zoe so important to you?” He comes back at me with another shove, but I’m prepared for this.
“Because she's a reminder that we can have something better, something good. She's my light, Cesare. And you can find someone like her too if you allow yourself to.”
“I don't know if I can, Ettore. Every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I hear his voice. It's like he's still controlling me,” he picks up the bottle of whiskey, but I snatch it from his grip, flinging it across the room so it slams into a bookshelf and smashes onto the floor.
“You're stronger than him,” I say, closing the distance and taking his face in my hands. “Look at me,” I repeatedly tap him on his cheeks until he glares at me. “You are stronger than the nightmares. We can face this together, but not through revenge. We need to find a way to heal, not to hurt.”
“Stop going fucking Shakespeare on me,” he slaps my hands away but lets his shoulders sag as he breathes out heavily, “I don't know if I can do it, Ettore. I don't know if I can let go.”
“Yes, you can.”
He corks an eyebrow at me. “Go open a fucking book club or something, damn it,” he sucks his teeth and bounces out.
That went well.